


Catch Me

by TheWeepingAngelOfCas



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Crowley (Good Omens) Is Not Crowley (Supernatural), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fallen Angel Aziraphale (Good Omens), Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, M/M, Post-Apocalypse, References to Supernatural (TV), apocalypse that wasn't
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-18
Updated: 2019-07-18
Packaged: 2020-06-28 09:46:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19809760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWeepingAngelOfCas/pseuds/TheWeepingAngelOfCas
Summary: Aziraphale knows he's going to fall soon.Heaven learned of his fraternizing with demons - Specifically Crowley.And now, he is going to fall. He can see his wings turning a light shade of grey already. Barely even enough to tell.So be it. If he's going to fall, he knows he won't be alone. Crowley will be with him every step of the way.***********************Inspired by https://www.instagram.com/p/Bzx9DilJGj_/ and https://www.instagram.com/p/BzeLZ5AA5Ar/. NEITHER OF WHICH ARE MINE! GIVE CREDIT TO THE AMAZING ORIGINAL ARTISTS.First Fic on ao3! Please be nice!





	Catch Me

**Author's Note:**

> ANGST  
> Angstyness ahead!!  
> First fic, so please be nice! I tried my best.  
> Feel free to comment and tell me what you think!! Thank you so much for giving me a chance and reading this!!  
> Anyway, Enjoy!

Aziraphale knows he's going to fall soon.

Heaven learned of his fraternizing with demons - Specifically Crowley. To be fair, it was a miracle they didn't notice sooner. The two had had lunch dates so often lately. Crowley had taken him for drives in the Bentley in which Aziraphale begged for him not to hit any pedestrians, and _God damn it, why did Crowley always have to take his hands off the wheel when he replied?_ The angel had spent several nights staying over in Crowley's apartment, and the demon had done the same in the bookshop. Oh, it was fascinating to watch as Crowley's eyes tried to focus on the text of his old books. Snake eyes were bad at focusing, especially when it came to interpreting penmanship. The demon would get headaches, which Azira would promptly miracle away. Of course Heaven found out he loved the demon. Angels could sense love, and Azira would reek of it when he even _thought_ of Crowley's name. They should have sensed it sooner. 

They didn't sentence him to hellfire again. Didn't even bother trying to give him a slight reprimand. They had seen how well those always turned out. No, they had decided that he was going to fall. They hadn't even tried to tell him. But he could sense it. 

And now, he is going to fall. He can see his wings turning a light shade of grey already. Barely even enough to tell. So be it. If he's going to fall, he knows he won't be alone. Crowley will be with him every step of the way.

He doesn't tell the aforementioned demon til the time is just right. Well, no time would ever be right.

Crowley despises discussing his fall from heaven. It's a sensitive topic, of course. He's only spared a few brief snippets, and even then, they were vague at best. He once, when extremely drunk, mentioned how beautiful the fall down was, despite how horrible it felt. He let out a sentence or two of how disorientating it was. To go from open, clean spaces in heaven to the dark and cramped corners of hell. Aziraphale has only ever seen hell once, during the not-so-Armageddon. He had vowed to never let Crowley go down there again. He thought of the demon's apartment. How open and modern it was. How the plants were so beautiful, and little did he know, so terrified. Everything was made to be open and fresh and free. 

Aziraphale, in his own way, hated how it reminded him of heaven. The demon still secretly had his faith, yes. How had he not realized that the angel was losing his? The angel preferred his bookshop. Everything was cluttered and lazily organized to seem cozy and safe. His back office, which was bursting with books. The small kitchenette, kept far away from the literature that adorned every other place in the building, was stocked with ingredients meant for comfort food. Hot chocolate mixes and ingredients took up an entire shelf of the cabinet. It was befitting of the angel. Few angels were like him. No, not even that. He was the only one like this. They all preferred heaven. Well, except for this one angel, but he had nearly been killed so many times now that Azira stopped keeping track of him. What was his name again? Cassiel? Something like that. 

******************************

Aziraphale revealed his fate to Crowley, as with all things, at the worst possible moment. 

This was the first time they had kissed in such a long while. They weren't even tipsy. Crowley loved affection, but that was moreso limited to cuddling or holding hands. Kisses were rarely his forte. 

Yet on that day, they were. Crowley had had such a long day. He needed his angel. He needed to relax in the bookshop, drinking coffee that he had stored in his own little shelf (which may or may not have also held a bottle of scotch). Aziraphale had welcomed him in, and covered the windows with their blinds. Crowley was about to speak when Azira finally let it out. About to say some comment on the weather, or how the angel never tired new clothes, or something. But he couldn't wait anymore.

"Crowley?" his voice is just a little too weak. 

The demon knows something is wrong almost instantly, "Angel? What is it?" 

He looks Aziraphale up and down. He can't see anything wrong at first. Yet soon, tears are pricking his angel's eyes, and it hurts him so much to see. 

"'Zira, what's wrong?" The angel wants to reply so badly, but for the first time in almost too long, he can't say it. It'll hurt Crowley. He has never, not in the 6,000 years he's known him, wanted to hurt him.

"Crowley," He takes a deep breath, trying to stop the tears that want to escape. Trying to quell the panic. "I feel off."

"Off?"

"...Yes. I don't know how to explain it. But I know what's happening."

The demon suspects what he's going to say before it even leaves the angel's lips. 

Azira continues on, "I love you, Crowley. Anthony J. Crowley. Please never leave me. No matter what." Aziraphale doesn't know if he's stalling or not. It's the truth, yes. The truth that they have never actually said to each other. He needs to say it. But the other matter at hand is just so pressing. 

Crowley's eyes widened, an eyebrow cocked in confusion. Never has Aziraphale said that to him. They loved each other, but neither of them ever had to say. It was obvious. Scared, he grabbed his angel's hand, and gave him a kiss. It was little more than a peck on the lips, but it seemed to speak so much.

_I'll never leave you._

_I love you so much._

_I'll always keep you safe._

The angel's lips were always so soft. Crowley never really took time on his own, so they were rather rough and chapped, but Azira never really seemed to mind. The kiss deepened, and Aziraphale took a few steps back. Crowley followed him, til the angel was pressed up against the wall. Crowley used his free hand to cup the angel's cheek. He knew what was coming next. He knew. Maybe if the angel didn't say it, it wouldn't happen. A foolish wish, he knew. 

He loved him. He loved this perfect, wonderful angel. He couldn't let him fall. 

Aziraphale let out a small sob, breaking the kiss, and rested his head on Crowley's chest. "I love you. I'll always love you. I promise."

"Angel..." Maybe if he stop's the angel from speaking, he'll wake up. This has to be a nightmare. It has to be. 

"I have to show you something." The angel slips from Crowley's grasp, walking to the center of the room.

When his wings materialize, Crowley looks like he's about to start sobbing. Tears threaten him, and he brings his hand to his mouth in shock.

There, nestled into one of Azira's pristine, pure white wings, is a black feather. It's the color of ink, and the feathers around it are dark, before finally fading to a light grey. Then white. It's as if it's infecting his angel.

He wants to pull them out. Both of them do. But that wouldn't stop it. No, more black feathers would come in. It wouldn't stop.

Finally, the angel breaks down.

****************************

Two months later, when he does fall, Crowley waits for him. He knows where his not-so-angelic angel is going to go. Crowley has accidentally spilled three pots worth of hot chocolate thanks to nerves, and when he starts the fourth, he can see his hands shake. 

Here he is, waiting. Waiting to find a broken angel at the doorstep. It made him feel sick, and he clenched his fists as he added more cocoa powder to the pot. Azira could be fallen by now, or perhaps on the way down.

He shouldn't pay attention to that. His angel will be here soon. And when he gets here, he'll be confronted by all the comfort he can get. 

****************************

It hurts. 

_It hurts it hurts it hurts._ That's all Aziraphale can think as he descends from the heavens. The few times he opens his eyes, the view is extraordinary. A beautiful sky, of mottled purples and oranges, with the sun about to set over the hills and buildings. It makes it all look so picturesque. Like he's looking at a painting.

Yet that is not what he's focused on. 

His body is burning. It feels as though his flesh has melted off, and as though his bones are being torn apart. He knows he's still whole, yet it doesn't feel right. Like he's being torn apart and being put back together. Cell by tiny little cell. He screams, yet no sound comes out, and for a moment, he thinks he can feel his wings tearing from his body. The feathers burning to ashes and flying into the crisp, open air. Perhaps he looks like a mess. Perhaps it's all in his head. Perhaps he's just a bloody mass of pain. He can't tell anymore. He almost wants to beg for forgiveness. Get down on his knees in front of all the angels and confess his sins. Pray to anyone who's willing to make it stop hurting.

He wants Crowley. He isn't sure how far he's still going to fall. But he knows, in the back of his mind, that Crowley is waiting for him. Probably with his favorites of everything. Favorite foods and drinks and books. The thought should have made him smile, but he couldn't seem to do anything but cry out for it to stop. He's still burning. His body is too hot. The wind seems to scratch his skin like sandpaper. It's as though he's nothing but a ragdoll being tossed around by a strong gust of wind. 

Just when it seems as though he can't take anymore, it all stops. He opens his eyes, and looks down at his hands. They look just as they did before.

He recognizes the place he's in. It's the alleyway besides his bookshop. Even now, he can see Crowley inside, rummaging through a shelf to find something. Azira can see his reflection in the mirror. He looks... normal? It appears as though nothing has changed.

Yet he feels different.

****************************

"Crowley?" his voice is hoarse. His legs feel like jello. Just as sways, about to fall to the floor, the demon catches him. 

"I've got you, angel." It's the sweetest tone Azira has ever heard from him.

"I'm not an angel, my dear." 

Crowley chuckles, burying his face in Azira's hair for a moment, "Do you think I care? I love you, Angel."

"I love you too."

*************************

He eats. He drinks. He falls asleep.

His body still feels hot. He's shaking uncontrollably. It's as though he's a useless pile of nothing. 

He cries. He cries as though no one's there to watch him. Yet Crowley is there. Crowley pulls the blanket tighter over the both of them, and kisses his darling angel's forehead.

When Azira lets out a particularly large cry, the demon whispers, "Shh. I've got you. I'll always be here to catch you."

The former angel nods, and lifts his head to look into Crowley's eyes. The demon kisses him, and for a moment, it's as if he never fell. 


End file.
